


Let us go then, you and I.

by gothoria



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abusive Neil Hargrove, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, California, Child Abuse, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Comfort, Dancing, Deep Conversations, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Mexican Characters - Freeform, Nostalgia, Self-Hatred, Sneaking Out, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Billy Hargrove, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, and, cumbias baby, for better times, spanish speaking billy hargrove, to go see the people that take care of you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28559397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothoria/pseuds/gothoria
Summary: Billy's last good Christmas, ice skating on lover's lake with Steve Harrington, first kisses, and a talk with Chief Hopper that puts everything into perspective.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Billy Hargrove & Neil Hargrove, Billy Hargrove & Original Character(s), Billy Hargrove & Original Female Character(s), Billy Hargrove & Original Male Character(s), Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Streets that follow like a tedious argument

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas this year isn't going to even come close to how it was last year. When Billy could breathe, dance, and have fun. He's fucking trapped now, in a town too small, in a house with walls that are slowly closing in, suffocating his very soul.
> 
> [Translations](https://gothoria.tumblr.com/post/639426121994321920/translations)

#  **_December 23rd, 1984. 2 days before Christmas._ **

Billy’s last memory of a good Christmas is- It’s nice. Comforting to look back on now that he’s stuck in the middle of Nowhere. Without his friends, without some hot chocolate that comes from a cardboard box with a grandma on the front.  _ Abuelita. _

Billy misses it. He misses it even more now that Christmas is so close, and he has no idea what he’s gonna do after the obligatory family time Neil will force him and Max into. 

He’s not a couple of houses down from his best friend, Miguel Salinas. Not gonna sneak away after Neil and Susan have forced him and Max to take part in their stupid family dinner. He’s not gonna steal a beer, he’s not gonna laugh when Miguel’s dad, Roberto, sneaks him another one in exchange for not telling Marcella, Miguel’s mom, that this is his third beer of the night and it’s only 10 PM. 

Instead, he’s gonna have to settle for calling them at midnight after his dad and Susan have gone to bed. He’ll let Max talk to Miguel for a couple of minutes. He’s not gonna tear up when he hears Miguel’s little sister, Marijose, call out his name. Like she can still see his face. Like she can remember when he first saw her in the hospital after she was born. How he carried her, cooed at her, and let her bite down on his index finger. He hopes that she remembers his face.

He wants at least one person to remember him as someone kind. Someone that balanced her in his arms and fed her with a warm bottle. The version of him that carried her two-year-old self on his shoulders a couple of months before his last good Christmas. The Christmas of 1983. 

Billy remembers it vividly. He remembers  _ California _ vividly. He doesn’t want those memories to ever fade. Not until he can go back and make new ones. Better ones.

***

#  **_December 24, 1983._ **

It’s not Billy’s fault. He doesn’t think it is. He kept his mouth closed. Mostly. Billy didn’t bring up that this is the 6th Christmas they’ve celebrated as a pretend family since his mom left. So, it’s probably Maxine’s fault.  _ God, she can be so dumb sometimes.  _

The back of his dad’s hand collides with his left cheek. It burns into his skin. Stings his teeth, too. Why does his dad have to wear his class ring constantly? No sympathy for Billy. Not even on Christmas. 

Kinda makes sense. Why would his dad stop today? When all he’s done is beat Billy, every other day like he has it marked it on his fucking calendar. 

_ ( _ **_IMPORTANT!_ ** _ Beat Billy until he fucking learns respect and responsibility.) _

“How many times have I told you not to talk back to me? Huh?! Do you not fucking get it, Billy?! And why can’t you just be nice to Susan?! Is it so fucking hard?!” His dad rises from where he was kneeling on the floor, right next to Billy. 

Billy’s not gonna answer. It’s probably worse, but if he does? Well, it would be the same fucking result.

He closes his eyes instead. Pictures getting up and strangling his father. Not that he would. He’s a pussy like that. He’s got all this muscle, and for what? To just kneel like a fucking dog when his father raises a hand?

_ Yeah. Exactly like that.  _

His father growls and punches his fist into the wall.  _ Ouch _ . 

Billy watches as his dad runs a hand through his brown hair. He keeps his eyes on his dad as he paces around the living room, boots hitting the ground loudly.

“God, Billy. I try with you, I really do,” Billy looks down to roll his eyes. It seems like the reaction to make, “But I just  _ can’t _ get through to you. What do you need me to do?” His dad barks, sighing immediately afterward. Billy rolls his shoulders back, leans against the back of the sofa. He clutches his ribs and pulls his legs in when his father walks over them. 

“I just need you to be a more responsible son. Can’t you do that?” Billy tries to speak. He gets the beginnings of the words,  _ ‘I’m sorry,’ _ before his father stomps back over to him, kneels, and fucking yells. Right in his left ear. 

_ “Would you shut the fuck up?!” _

Billy turns his cheek and closes his eyes. He doesn’t feel like fighting anymore. It’s better to stay quiet. 

“Sure.”

_ Jesus fucking Christ.  _

His dad grabs him by the arm. His nails dig into the skin, leaving crescents on his biceps. It stings, but not more than the blinding pain in his ribs. He might throw up from it. He probably  _ will. _ As soon as he’s back in his room. 

His dad struggles to get him up, but once he does, he’s dragging him along the hall to his room. The hand closing around his bicep gets tighter, like a fucking noose. 

He winces once or twice. Maybe he’ll get some sympathy points if he does. No such luck. His dad is a fucking boulder. A man of stone. He doesn’t look back at Billy whenever he whimpers in pain. Never turns to check on him. 

He throws him into his room. Billy stumbles before his socked feet grip onto the carpet. He gets one last glimpse of his dad’s eyes glaring at him before the door slams shut, the sound ringing throughout the house.

_ Finally. Peace and quiet.  _

Billy sighs and flops onto his bed, back hitting the springs and the bed letting out an awful creak when he’s finally settled into the blue blankets. 

He closes his eyes for a while, lays an arm across them. When he removes his arm and opens his eyes, he’s met with nothing. Just his plain ceiling. 

The popcorn ceiling reminds Billy of the one in Miguel’s room. So, that’s a sign to get the hell out of here now that his dad has left him alone for the remark he made while they were opening presents. That’s probably what got him in this situation.

_ ‘Not what I would’ve gotten Max, Dad.’ _ God, he never fucking learns, does he? Besides, it’s not like the skateboard he got her was any better. It’s only slightly better than the one Max already has. 

Still, Billy hopes she likes it. Took him 3 weeks’ pay. The gig with Miguel’s dad, helping people learn how to surf and maintain their boards, only pays a couple of dollars. It’s a good way to pass the time though, just lounging around in the surf shop. 

He should leave. Now. 

He gets up, ignores the painful creaking his bed makes. He’ll buy a new frame soon. In a couple of weeks. He also ignores the pain in his ribs. Probably just a few bruises, anyway. His dad was in somewhat of a Christmas spirit before Billy fucked it up.

He kicks the frame once, cringes at the sound of the springs.  _ A couple of weeks.  _

His boots are scruffy and have sand in the bottom soles. He wore them yesterday to the bonfire party on the beach next to the pier, against his better judgment.

They’re leaking sand on the carpet inside his closet when he opens the closet doors to look for them. He straightens them out and then shakes them around. Billy loves the beach, he does. He hates the fucking sand, though. 

“Serves me right,” He mumbles to himself, pulling the boots up and hiding the top under his dark wash jeans. The moon shines through the blinds and gives him the slightest amount of light so he doesn’t look like a fucking idiot as he looks around for his leather jacket. He finds it sitting underneath his bed and shrugs it on quickly. 

The window makes little noise when he busts it open. He shakes up his curls, takes them out of the back of his jacket, and then he’s off.

His feet land on the grass gently. His boots don’t make a sound and God, is he grateful for that. Billy holds his breath for a minute because you can never be too sure that your abusive parent is asleep. Better safe than sorry, of course. 

Once nobody comes barging into his room with a fire in their eyes,  _ that’s _ when Billy makes a run for it. He leaves the window slightly open. Just in case Miguel’s mom decides he needs to go home for the night. Unlikely, but again-  _ better safe than sorry.  _

The stars are nonexistent in San Francisco. Too much light pollution. Billy looks up occasionally from the gravel streets as he walks down on his way to Miguel’s.

His mom always hated the city lights. She’d take him to the beach when the city was finally asleep. She taught him how to swim during the night. Never during the day. She said it was better that way. They had the entire ocean to themselves and the animals. No one could bother them. Not even Dad. 

It’s silly now that he thinks back on it. Nothing changes at midnight. Nothing changes in the moonlight. The day always comes. His mom was always a bit silly, though. She made jokes no one understood except for Billy. 

The closer he gets to Miguel’s house, the louder the streets become. They’re having a party, no doubt. Miguel’s family always does. 

Billy’s grateful for that. No one knows him except for the Salinas family. They’re an exception to Billy’s rule of never getting close to someone enough for them to know him. Truly know him. They’ve known him ever since he was a wimpy kid in elementary. 

Marcella Salinas fed him, took care of his wounds when his father beat the crap out of him. She took him in when his mom was too sick and too bloody to take care of him. She took one look at the black eye on his mom’s face when they appeared at her doorstep after a bad run with his dad after school and let them in. 

He’ll pay her back. He will. Billy  _ needs _ to pay her back. 

The Salinas house isn’t big. It’s a small home for a small family. Just a mom, dad, their son, and their two-year-old daughter. One story. White sliding, small porch. A cement driveway like any other.

When Billy was little, it seemed like a maze. Now, it just seems like a home away from home. It’s a better home than his actual one. He’s spent nights sleeping in the same bed as Miguel, mornings at the dinner table eating breakfast tacos, and dinners eating tamales and frijoles, or any other Mexican dish. He likes the fideo the best. 

The red door is the same as every other front door in the neighborhood.  _ Billy’s _ house has the same stupid red paint covering it. He doesn’t know if it’s the people or the memories he’s made in this house, but the red paint  _ feels  _ different here. 

He stops in front of the door and brings his knuckles up. He’s about to knock when a cumbia song tears through the air.  _ No way they’ll hear him with the music blasting. _ So, he rings the doorbell. Once, twice, three times before Miguel’s dad appears. 

Roberto glares at him. He’s only slightly taller than Billy, but even then. He doesn’t scare Billy. There’s no actual heat behind the glare anyway, so Billy laughs. 

His laugh must be contagious because Roberto joins in after a while. Then, both of them are all smiles. Billy reaches over to ruffle Beto’s brown curls. Miguel has the same ones. Beto smacks his hand away with a playful glare returning to his brown eyes. 

“ _ Mas te vale _ , Billy. Okay,  _ ahora si. Vente _ ,” Billy steps over the threshold. His nose picks up on the scent of pan dulce.  _ Conchas and donuts. _ Roberto laughs when Billy gravitates to the kitchen. 

Sue him, he hasn’t eaten since 7 PM and it’s already 11.

Billy grabs a concha off the platter that has a billion of them sitting on top of each other. The pink sugar melts on his tongue and he fucking  _ moans _ . The bread is heavenly. He devours it in four bites.

He sits down on the high seats after, watches as Marcella comes in from the backyard through the sliding doors, and notices him sitting. She squeals and rushes over, grabbing his cheeks and planting a kiss on his left one. 

The one that looks the tiniest bit red now. An  _ enormous _ bruise will appear on his tan skin tomorrow morning, What a shame.

“ _ Por qué no nos dijisteis que te ibas a venir _ ?” Marcella asks, moving around the island to stand in front of Billy. 

Billy shrugs, “ _ Porque no sabía que yo iba a venir.” _ Marcella glares at him for his answer. Like Beto, there’s no heat. So, he smiles his dazzling, all teeth smile and chuckles when she drops the glare and smiles back. 

_ “Okay. Pero tienes que ayudarme con Marijose. Ya me tiene hasta la madre,”  _ She shakes her head and turns to face the stove, grabbing a wooden cradle spoon to stir some soup around. Probably fideo.

Everyone, including Billy, loves Marcella’s fideo. 

Billy takes the time to look around the house. Shiny Christmas lights are lining the kitchen cabinets in front of him.

There are more outside, shining into the kitchen and the living room. He can also see Miguel outside, along with the regular crowd of family members and friends the Salinas family invites for Christmas. He’s busy trying to get Marijose to  _ stop running. _

Something that will fail as soon as Marijose gets to play with the older kids. She’s full of energy. Tires Billy out with all the piggyback rides and sword fights she wants to have  _ all the time. _

Beto comes over to sit next to Billy, passing him a mug of hot chocolate. Probably spiked. 

Beto leans over, motions for Billy to lean over too, “ _ Tiene un poquito de Fireball. No le digas a Marcella.” _ Of course. Billy laughs when Beto does and clinks their mugs together. Marcella turns around and narrows her brown eyes at them. They take a sip at the same time. Billy shrugs his shoulders.

Marcella huffs. She shakes her head and turns her attention back to the sopa heating on the stove. Beto stands up, leaving the mug of hot chocolate on the island counter. He starts for the glass sliding doors and turns around to look at Billy, who’s still sitting, just watching the lights flicker. 

Beto’s voice brings him out of whatever trance the colors put him in, “Billy.  _ Ven.  _ Marijo has been asking for you all night long,  _ de veras. _ ” Billy nods and hops off the seat. Maxine was never as cute as Marijose is. She’s got Billy wrapped around her little fingers.  _ Little brat. _

The lights outside are even more vibrant than the ones in the kitchen. Probably because there are a  _ fuck ton _ of lights. They have some lining the sage green shed to the right, and some lining the roof above Billy’s head. It’s nice, in all honesty.

What’s  _ not _ nice is the screeching of little kids running around the patio. One of them is gonna trip and spill their fucking brains if they don’t stop. 

Billy spots  _ Marijose _ running and runs over to her. She’s dressed in a plaid dress, with a black velvet sweater, and black Mary-Jane’s adorning her tiny feet.

It’s a struggle to get a good grip on her, with her feet  _ still _ pushing forward, running in the air but once Billy does, all he needs to do is tickle her, and then she stops. She erupts into giggles instead. 

Billy can’t help but laugh with her, lifting her up and down before she wraps her arms around his neck, “ _ Billy! Te extrañe! _ ” She yells into his ear. 

More like babbles, like she’s trying to combine the two languages she knows. Billy doesn’t even know how he understood her fucked up words. 

“Yeah? I missed you too, Mari. Come on, where’s Miguel?” He asks, walking with her head tucked into his blonde hair.

He spots the cousins that Miguel has over every other weekend near the shed, relaxing against the wall. The cousins with  _ exceptional _ weed. 

Can’t get sidetracked though, so he keeps on walking around the patio. He turns to walk towards the side of the house, where all the tables with family members are.

Cumbias are playing still, and drunk tías are laughing and talking about  _ chisme _ . He’ll sit down with Miguel and listen in later. 

Billy’s about to scream when someone runs in front of him and stops suddenly.  _ Then _ , he sees it’s Miguel. 

He glares and smacks him on his arm, hopes it fucking hurts,  _ “Pendejo.  _ Finally, Marijose has  _ calmed down. _ ” Miguel sneers.

Marijose peaks out from under the mess that is Billy's hair. The wind has done some serious damage to it ever since he stepped outside. She sticks out her tongue and Billy has to restrain a laugh by biting his lip when Miguel does it right back. 

“Well, I think Marijo and I are gonna go have  _ fun _ . Maybe on the trampoline?” Billy turns his head to look at Marijose and finds an enthusiastic grin on her face. She nods so excitedly that her chin almost collides with Billy’s nose. Her brown eyes are  _ full  _ of Christmas spirit, and God, Billy doesn’t even like Christmas but he fucking  _ adores _ Marijose.

So, he raises his eyebrows as if to say,  _ Hey, what can ya do?,  _ when Miguel shakes his head, “You  _ just _ got her to settle down! Now, you’re gonna let her jump on the trampoline?”

Billy nods, “Yeah, dumbass. That’s  _ exactly _ what I’m gonna do.” Miguel groans and runs a hand over his face, shutting his eyes. 

“ _ Güey,  _ you’re insane,” Miguel says, slapping himself on the forehead like the idea of Billy getting Marijose energetic again is bringing him a headache. 

Billy nods as he walks backward with Marijose chanting, “ _ Trampoline! Trampoline! Trampoline!” _ He winks at Miguel, “That’s why your parents  _ and _ you love me!” Billy whips around and starts running to the grass that’s just a few feet ahead of the patio. 

The trampoline is being used by a couple of kids that Billy should probably know, but doesn’t. He glares at them and tells them to scatter, and then it’s empty.

He smiles to himself and sits down in the center. Marijose climbs out of his arms and stands up on her little feet in front of him. She holds onto his hands as she does, bouncing on her heels, and she is so fucking  _ cute _ when she starts looking around for nothing at all. Her head just turns from side to side, straight brown hair like Marcella’s whipping around.

She’s about to sit down, but Billy stops her. Her plaid dress looks  _ nice _ and Billy doesn’t want Marcella getting mad at Marijose for getting it dirty with the leaves and dirt that has fallen into the trampoline from the tree hanging above them. Instead, he sits her down on his feet. He ignores the pain it brings him and starts playing with her brown hair instead.

“ _ Oye, Marijo _ . What did you get for Christmas,  _ huerca? _ ” He asks Marijose, weaving her hair between his fingers. His mom used to braid his hair like this. She stopped after her dad saw and slapped the shit out of her for raising their son as a  _ fag _ . 

Marijose squirms a little until Billy pokes at her side, getting a giggle out of her. She settles down and shrugs, “ _ Una muñeca. Y unos vestidos de mi tía Marianela.”  _ Billy hums, his fingers still braiding, “Do you like them?” He asks, receiving a curt nod. Marijose talks with people like she’s the boss of a big company. Billy likes to enable her. 

“ _ Entonces, jefa, vas a jugar con tus muñecas  _ later?” Billy tugs the hair tie sitting on his wrist off. He ties the braid and pats Mari’s hair flat. She brings her hair to rest on her shoulder, feeling the lumps of hair with her tiny fingers, “Yeah. Are you going to come and play too?” She asks, turning around to face him with a pout on her face already. 

_ Damn.  _ That stupid pout of hers  _ always  _ gets Billy to do whatever she asks. 

Billy sighs. Marijose  _ begs  _ him to come to play with her one of these days. He laughs, mindlessly runs a hand through his hair and nods. “Okay, Mari. I’ll come by later in the week, okay?” She screams in victory, lifting her tiny hands like she’s just won a fucking boxing match. It makes Billy laugh even louder. 

Billy hears a voice calling out his name and Marijose’s. It sounds like Marcella, so he yells back, “ _ Mande?!”  _ The patio area is lit up, but the trampoline isn’t so he can only hope that Marcella heard him because the yelling  _ seriously _ hurt his voice. 

Marcella appears in the opening to the trampoline. Marijose squeals and makes her way to her mom. Marcella barely catches her when she slips on the trampoline’s rubbery floor. 

She looks.. worn out. Billy can’t blame her. She’s had this Christmas Eve party in full swing for two hours. It’s a miracle she hasn’t passed out with her head in a plate of tamales. 

Marcella looks over to him with a tired smile on her face. “ _ Tienes hambre?”  _ She asks him, balancing a bubbly Marijo on her hip. Billy shakes his head, standing up and making his way out of the trampoline. “No.  _ Ya comí. _ ” 

Marcella holds out a hand for him to take as he climbs down the little stepladder leading to the trampoline. Normally, he would feel disgusted or embarrassed at the thought of having to take her hand in front of so many people.

It’s Christmas, though. Fuck it.

He takes her hand and hops off the stepladder. As soon as he steps in front of her, Marcella brushes away dirt and leaves that made their way into his curls and his leather jacket. “ _ Estas seguro?”  _ He laughs and nods, “I ate at home. And I had a concha  _ tambien _ .” She sighs. Marcella always feeds him way too much. In her book, it’s too little. 

He’s had sack lunches with  _ tortas _ full of turkey, ham, cheese, tomato many times. He always feels stuffed after eating with the Salinas’ or eating something Marcella cooked for him to take home. 

He leans forward to plant a kiss on Marcella’s cheek, “ _ Voy a ir con Miguel. _ ” She nods, returns the brief kiss on the cheek, “ _ No se ponen locos. Tenemos familia aquí. _ ” He groans like it physically pains him to behave himself. It does, honestly. Billy fucking  _ thrives _ on being a menace. 

It’s why he snuck out last night to go to the pier to do… well, Billy can’t remember. Something fun with Miguel, probably. The bonfire and.. something else. He’ll remember eventually. He was probably too drunk and now his mind is all fuzzy. 

His curls go flying when Marcella smacks him up by the head, “I mean it, Billy.” He huffs and nods sharply, rubbing at the back of his head.  _ God, she hits hard. _ “Okay. Best behavior.” He says, a smile coming back to his face when he catches Marijose’s wide grin after seeing her mom patronize him. 

Billy plants a kiss on Mari’s cheek, too. He chuckles when she grimaces and tries to push his face away with her hands. 

Then Marcella is shooing him away. She tells him to have fun, to not drink so much, and that Beto has a present waiting for him. 

Sometimes, Billy wishes the Salinas family would be  _ his _ fucking family. He and Miguel could be actual brothers. Billy would have a little sister that wasn’t such a fucking brat, getting into trouble all the time. He would have a mom that only smacks him when he’s a bad kid. Beto wouldn’t beat the crap out of him for being a fag because Beto’s half of a fag himself. 

That was a real shocker. Billy found out that Beto was bisexual after Miguel told him that Billy was gay on Billy’s birthday. They had invited Billy out to a seafood place for a small lunch. The conversation about what they got for Billy as his birthday present had turned into an interrogation about who Billy was dating, if he was at all.

Beto and Marcella had assumed it was a girl. Billy doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t  _ look _ gay. Whatever that means. He’s not parading his preference for dicks around. That’s what it means. 

Miguel had corrected them. Billy was half-way out of his seat, eyes dropped to the white tile floor of the restaurant when Beto leaned over and told him he had had a boyfriend in Mexico before he met Marcella at university and came to the U.S. for a safer place to raise their family. Billy sat back down with wide blue eyes, staring into Beto’s brown ones. 

So, Billy confided in Beto and Marcella. He told them how hard it was to be gay when your dad already suspects and is very against his sexuality. They hugged him and told him it would  _ always _ be okay for him to come over and spend some time in a place where he can be  _ himself _ . 

Billy fucking wishes he was born in this family instead of his own. He loved his mom, but she didn’t love him enough to stay. Or to even take him with her. Not even his  _ crying  _ could convince her to come back for him. 

He loved his dad. He thinks. Billy doesn’t have many fond memories with his dad. The utterly horrible memories he has clouded all the good ones. He has gaps in his memory too. Whatever happened before his mom left is impossible to recall. His brain has blocked those memories. 

Probably for the better. 

“Billy!” 

Billy whirls around. A grin rises on his face when he sees that it’s his friend, Juanita. He wraps his arms around her and hugs her tightly, ignoring her pleas to let her go, “Juanita! Hey, shut up for a while, I haven’t seen you in a week,” She huffs, but eventually wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes the air out of him with a grin on her face. 

He’s about to let her go when he hears the opening to his favorite cumbia.  _ ‘Tienes Que Regresar’ _ by Pastor Lopez. Juanita squirms in his arms, “Billy, no.” She whines, “ _ Ya me canse.” _ He scoffs, dragging her over to the center of the patio, which is now a dance floor for everyone and their fucking mother, “And? Come on, one more dance.” He pleads, giving Juanita puppy dog eyes that are  _ impossible _ to resist.

Juanita huffs. She turns her head, and Billy thinks he’s done for until she nods and throws out her hand. Billy whoops and takes it, shrugging off his leather jacket and throwing it onto a chair that sits by the glass doors. 

He leads Juanita, making their way around the patio with ease he’s got over years of being invited to his classmates’ quinceaneras. His boots click against the cement as they dance. His feet are gonna fucking  _ hurt,  _ and he  _ should  _ look for Miguel, but what’s one dance with the only girl that can tell him off with just a couple of words? 

Juanita’s always been like that, ever since she and Billy first met in middle school. She’s got blonde curls like his, it’s what he first noticed about her, and she doesn’t  _ look _ Mexican, with her beige skin and hazel eyes, but she speaks fluent Spanish and has immigrant parents. Never judge a book by its cover. 

She also looks sweet, with a round face and doe eyes. She can be, obviously, but she also made fun of Billy when he first started learning how to dance cumbias. Juanita called him a fucking  _ clown _ . Then, she said he looked like he had two left feet. 

But she also was his first dance partner. Juanita Aleman will always be one of Billy’s good friends. 

They spin, pass hands, hit the cement with their heels. Billy will never admit to his dad that dancing cumbias at these gatherings with his friends is one of his favorite things to do. Besides, no one would believe anyone if they said Billy Hargrove enjoys dancing to singers crying about love. 

If his dad saw him now, illuminated by the orange lights on the corners of the roof, hand in hand with Juanita Aleman, he would  _ insist _ it wasn’t Billy. Billy wouldn’t do such a  _ fag _ thing, and he wouldn’t be hanging around Mexicans. 

Whatever. Billy does what he wants. 

The song ends with a final trumpet flourish. They’re both grinning at each other, and Billy gives Juanita one final spin. She laughs as she spins on her black converse, “Okay,  _ ya. _ Do you know where Miguel is?” She asks, sliding under his arm and resting her head on his left shoulder. He shakes his head, “I was just looking for him. Let’s go to his room.” 

She nods her agreement. They weave their way through old and young couples still dancing, occasionally bumping into some. 

“So, how was the bonfire? Miguel called me yesterday to ask if I wanted to go  _ pero _ I had homework.” Juanita says. Billy looks over at her with his face scrunched up, “ _ Homework _ ?  _ No mames _ , you could’ve skipped out on it. I don’t fucking remember the bonfire, actually. It’s weird.” Juanita hums and reaches out for the handle of the glass doors, sliding it open.

“Well, some of us wanna pass this semester,  _ dumbass _ , and not go to a bonfire you won’t even remember.” She hisses, a condescending smile on her face. All teeth. 

It makes Billy flash a similar grin, “I don’t need to worry about  _ passing _ , Juanita.” He retorts, walking into the kitchen and making his way towards the living room.

Juanita follows close behind, “Yeah, whatever.  _ Future Valedictorian. _ ” Billy spins around, walking backward and to the left, where Miguel’s room is. Juanita crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her chin up at him.  _ She’s pissed. _

“Sorry. Better luck next time, number six.” He grins, reaching behind him to feel for the doorknob. He twists it open and holds the door open, bowing his head as Juanita passes into the room with a sneer on her face, “ _ Your highness.”  _ She elbows him,  _ right in the fucking ribs. _

_ Fucking bitch. _

It knocks the fucking wind out of him. He doubles over right away and clutches his ribs, letting out a groan of pain, “ _ Puta, _ ” He gets out, walking over to Miguel’s bed where a  _ baby _ is.

He’s not gonna ask Miguel whose baby it is. Miguel probably doesn’t know either. 

“ _ Callate el osico.  _ You asked for it.” Juanita argues. Billy hops on the bed, careful because there’s a fucking  _ baby _ in the middle of the bed. 

He’s not sure the bed is the safest place for the baby. It looks only a couple of months old. If they were to jostle the baby, it would smack into the wall the bed rests against. Miguel doesn’t look worried. 

Miguel’s legs are dangling over the side of the bed. It looks as if he sat down and then laid down to play with the baby. His cooing confirms Billy’s thoughts. 

Juanita looks down at the baby. Her eyebrows scrunch together, “Miguel, whose baby is that?” She asks, holding a finger in front of the baby’s face and smiling when the baby takes her finger in its chubby hand. Miguel shrugs, “Beats me, Juani. I found it here. Let’s just take care of it or something.”

Billy moves from the end of the bed, shuffling closer to the center, “It’s cute.” He looks up from the baby to catch Miguel rolling his eyes, “Of course. You think  _ every _ kid is cute. You’re gonna be an embarrassing dad, I can tell.” Juanita laughs and nods in agreement, “Definitely.” She adds. Billy scoffs, but he can _ feel _ his cheeks heat.

He likes kids. So what? Well, he likes babies. Anything over 4 usually turns out to be the spawn of Satan. 

“Screw you guys,” Billy grumbles, crossing his legs under him. Miguel cackles, reaching over to flick Billy’s forehead, “Calm down, idiot. You’re gonna scare the baby,” Miguel pouts. Billy narrows his eyes and shakes his head, “ _ Chinga tu madre.”  _ He hisses. 

Juanita and Miguel exclaim, “ _ Hey! Hey! _ ” Juanita shakes her head and starts playing with the baby’s feet, giggling when the baby kicks them around with a smile on its face. 

Miguel, however, “ _ Calmate, Billy. Hay un bebe.” _ He grins, gesturing to the baby that’s busy trying to kick in Juanita’s face. 

Billy rolls his eyes, “ _ Whatever _ .” He mumbles. 

Miguel’s mouth is open, about to get out another insult, probably, when a mom comes in. Or a tía. One of the two, for sure.

She whips her head around the room until Juanita moves away from the baby, leaning on v her side against the edge of the bed. The woman sighs in relief and comes over to the three of them. 

“ _ Gracias a Dios. Se me olvidó donde estaba mi Frida. Pueden cuidarla?”  _ The woman asks, reaching down to adjust the white fluffy blanket she’s wrapped the baby in with worry in her brown eyes.

Billy’s babysat. Once. And it wasn’t really babysitting, it was taking care of Maxine when she was sick during the weekend. Neil and Susan wanted to go to Los Angeles for a small vacation and they had already paid for the hotel, so Billy had to look after her the  _ entire _ weekend. 

He missed out on a session for her. Brat. 

Miguel looks over at him expectantly, eyebrows raised with bug eyes. Billy shrugs, his blue eyes wide too. Juanita looks back at them and rolls her hazel eyes, “ _ Sí. No se preocupa.”  _ Thank God for her. 

The lady sighs with relief, “ _ Gracias mija.” _ It takes two seconds for her to get to the door and close it. Then the baby babbles.  _ Frida _ babbles. 

Juanita hums. “Frida  _ is _ kinda cute. You were right, Billy.” Billy groans and runs a hand over his face, interrupts her before she can add anything else, “Would you drop that already?” He begs, stretching his legs over the side of the bed. He leans up against the wall, identical to Miguel. 

“Hey, are you staying over?” Miguel asks. Billy stammers for an answer.

He knows his dad won’t mind if he stays here. Just as long as he’s home by 10 AM. All Billy needs to do is ask Marcella. 

He tells Miguel this, “She’ll say yes.” Miguel says, rolling his eyes. Miguel tells him all the time to not bother even asking when Billy  _ knows _ the answer will be yes. 

Doesn’t matter because Billy leaves the room to find Marcella. He finds her outside, sitting down with a couple of other women at the white tables by the side of the house. They’re talking about how a mom at school got caught cheating. The smell of tacos, tamales, and meat linger in the air even hours after they all ate. 

Billy lingers for a while before asking Marcella. The women know how to tell a story, alright?

She says yes. She even rolls her eyes, just like her son did, before taking a sip of the  _ horchata _ in her glass. 

Billy plants a kiss on her cheek and says goodbye and goodnight to all the ladies sitting down. He’s got manners.

“You were right.” Billy closes the door to Miguel’s room. Miguel laughs, “I told you, dude. Anyway, there're some pajamas and a spare shirt in the closet for later.” He says, gesturing to the sliding closet that’s to Billy’s right. It uses up a lot of space, but Miguel has  _ a lot  _ of shit buried in there. 

Juanita is still playing with the baby, but her eyes are droopy. Billy doesn’t remember being gone for a long time, but when he walks to the nightstand Miguel has next to his bed and picks up the clock, the hands read ‘1:27.’ 

He grumbles, “Shit.  _ Ya son las una y media.” _ Juanita rushes up from where she’s leaning against the bed, “Are you serious?” She exclaims, hazel eyes bugging out. Billy nods and hands the clock over to her. She groans when she sees that he was right. 

“ _ A la madre, _ my mom said we would be  _ gone _ by now. I’m gonna go ask her.” Juanita gets up, shaking her body out like she’s trying to get rid of the sleep that wants to overtake her. 

Billy shakes his head as she leaves, looking over to Miguel who has adjusted the baby so it’s laying down vertically on the pillows. “I don’t know why she bothers. Her mom’s just gonna tell her they’ll leave soon, and then they won’t leave until 2,” Miguel mutters. Billy laughs because it’s  _ true. _

Billy learned that lesson when he first went to a quinceanera with Miguel and his mom. They asked constantly when they would leave and all Marcella said was, “We’ll leave soon.” 

They didn’t leave until 2:30 in the morning. 

Billy moves onto the bed and rests his head on the pillow, taking the side of the bed closest to the wall. “Make sure the baby doesn’t fall.” He tells Miguel. Miguel nods and climbs on the bed, his body protecting it from the edge of the bed where Miguel is. 

Billy’s not sure how much time passes. He closes his eyes, just barely, as someone is coming into the room. He sits up when he hears the doorknob twist open. 

Frida’s mom comes in and tells them to relax. Billy does. He lays back down after they’re gone. 

He kinda misses the baby. 

He closes his eyes a second time and wakes up again when he hears footsteps outside Miguel’s room.

Beto opens the door. His hand stays on the doorknob. “Billy.” He calls. Billy doesn’t answer with words, he just groans. Beto sighs, opening the door further. “Billy, I have your present.” 

Billy shoots up, “Present?” He sheepishly asks. Miguel is still snoring beside him so Billy is extra careful when he’s making his way off the bed, tries not to move Miguel’s legs as Billy climbs over them.

Beto watches him hop on one leg to avoid hitting Miguel with his foot, and he doesn’t even help. “ _ Gracias por ayudarme. _ ” Billy whispers, scowling as he makes his way out of Miguel’s room and towards the living room. 

The party has died. All the people that gathered outside have now gone home. It’s quiet. Calm. Billy feels at peace here more than he ever does at home. At home, he’s constantly walking on eggshells around his dad. 

Here, the racing of his heart is out of  _ excitement _ . Not fear. 

Beto laughs and grips Billy’s shoulders, leading him to the right and into the living room. Then he’s sitting Billy down on the leather couch that’s right in front of the TV. 

_ “Aver. Mijo, ya sabes que te queremos mucho, verdad?”  _ Beto starts, waving his hands around like he always does. Billy nods. Beto nods back, kneeling and reaching out to grab the glasses case that rests on the brown coffee table. 

He walks over to sit next to Billy. “I hope that after these years with you, this is a suitable present.” Beto reaches in between the cushions to bring out a Christmas gift bag. It’s not huge, but Billy thinks that they’ll nail this year’s present, anyway. 

Beto hands the bag over to Billy, opens up the glasses, and slides them on. They make him look like a professor. 

Billy looks at the bag. He looks at Beto, and then to the bag again. Beto sighs, “Open it,  _ mijo _ .” He says. Billy chuckles and nods. He tries not to rip the bag but tears it the slightest bit at the edge when his fingers slide in to get rid of the tape keeping it closed. 

He brings out the items. 

The Scorpions album he mentioned wanting  _ months  _ ago. The Luis Miguel album he has a guilty pleasure for. A new earring in the shape of a spike. 

_ They’re perfect gifts. _ His dad will probably get him something generic. Something that screams,  _ ‘I know nothing about my son!’ _

Billy’s eyes hurt. He turns to stare at Beto, who has a warm smile on his face. “Thank you,” Billy whispers. Beto shrugs nonchalantly, bringing a hand up to squeeze Billy’s shoulder, “Don’t mention it,  _ mijo _ . You’re family. The least we could do is get you something nice.” 

Billy feels his heart break. They’re so good to him. Even after all the shit he’s pulled. The one time he told Marcella to leave him alone after getting into a fight at school and running to her home as soon as Neil left him, battered and bloody on his kitchen floor. Billy thinks about how he yelled at her.

And how all she did was shake her head and  _ cry _ . Because Billy was hurting, his face was bloody, there was a black eye forming, and he didn’t know how to tell her he  _ really _ needed her. 

Marcella understood, though. She pulled him up off the porch and led him to the bathroom, Marcella dabbed away at the blood that crusted under his nose, let him take a breather, and told him to sleep it off. She tucked him in and made sure the couch was comfy. 

Billy’s not a good person. He drinks, smokes, talks shit about everybody and anybody. He picks fights with everybody. Doesn’t matter how old or young they are. Everyone gets a taste of the fire that burns under his skin. 

So, why does Beto give him a Christmas present every time he comes over for the holiday?

He’s different around them. He still has some of that snark, that fire. But it’s more of a spark. Not a wildfire threatening to consume and destroy everything in its path. 

If he could, he would try to be the person he is around the Salinas family constantly. 

He  _ has _ tried. Billy never changes. He’s always reminded of the person he truly is inside. The boy who gets beat and then goes around and kicks the shit out of some poor freshman. 

Learned behavior, and all that shit. 

“Billy?”

Beto stands up, ruffling Billy’s hair. “ _ A dormir. _ ” He whispers. Billy looks around. He notices that all the lights have gone out. Marcella is probably putting Marijose to sleep now. 

Billy nods and gets up, shoving the albums and his new earring into the gift bag. He lingers. He wants to hug Beto, but they’ve only hugged a handful of times. Beto is always working. They don’t see each other as often. Still, Beto’s always been more of a father than Billy’s dad. 

Before he can back out, Billy reaches out for Beto and wraps his arms around him. He can hear a low chuckle in his ear before Beto returns the bug, “I should buy more albums.” Beto mumbles. Billy laughs softly. He doesn’t wanna wake anyone up. 

They stay there for a while. No one’s gonna come looking for them. Not yet, at least. Marcella will probably come if Beto doesn’t get to bed in a couple more minutes. She’s always emphasized that they should go to sleep at a reasonable time, or as early as possible. 

Billy pulls away and takes a breath. “Thank you. Again.” He mumbles, turning his head. Something about profound conversations, about how much a person can mean to Billy, makes his stomach twist. He’s never been good with that shit. He can’t say, ‘I love you.” when he wants to. Billy always settles for  _ showing _ his love, rather than saying it. 

Beto nods, “Don’t worry about it,  _ mijo _ . Go to sleep.” He smiles at Billy and pats his cheek. Billy huffs but wears a smile of his own. He watches Beto leave, still holding onto the gift bag with a tight grip. If Billy doesn’t hold on tightly, it might slip away. Everything inside will shatter. 

The wind outside is angry. Billy can hear it through sliding doors. He can also hear people on the streets, talking. Probably getting home after a party. On any other day, that would be Billy. Christmas is special though. He reserves it for the people he wants to see. 

He doesn’t know why the Salinas family are so good to him. Especially with the reputation he has for being an overall dick to anyone that isn’t them. 

He takes what he can get, though. 

He doesn’t want to let this good thing go.


	2. To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, Billy has no idea why Steve even tolerates him. He beat the shit out of him and then apologized to him in a fucking alleyway beside the arcade. 
> 
> Billy wouldn't trust himself. He doesn't, actually. He's still gonna go fucking ice-skating though. Gonna enjoy the few moments of utter bliss he can get in this stupid hick town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one translation here is, "Joyeria," which means jewelry.

#  **_December 23rd, 1984. 2 days before Christmas._ **

Steve invites Billy to go skating on Lover’s Lake two days before Christmas because he.. who fucking knows? 

Billy and Steve are on better terms now. Maxine had made it very clear that she wanted Billy to apologize to all of her friends and Steve, seeing as how Billy had beat the shit out of Harrington. 

So, Billy sucked up his pride and apologized. His apology was pretty sucky, but it was an apology. Sure, it was in a fucking alleyway next to the arcade, and Billy might’ve been smoking as he spoke, but it counted. In Billy’s mind, anyway. 

Plus, it’s not like Billy wasn’t sorry. He  _ was _ . That’s the craziest part. Billy  _ genuinely _ felt sorry. Harrington had lied, but that didn’t warrant a fucking beating. Billy should’ve dragged Maxine out of there, thrown her into the Camaro, and warned Steve about messing with his step-sister. 

Instead, he let his dad get to him and beat the fucking shit out of Harrington. Not that surprising, given Billy’s track record. 

He had to fucking  _ walk _ home. He got lost two times. The woods in Hawkins are dark and looming. Billy doesn’t get how anyone can like them. They’re creepy as hell.

What was waiting for him at home when he finally arrived was even worse. 

He knew what was going to happen to him when he got home, empty-handed. It doesn’t make it any easier to endure. 

Plus, Neil was so fucking mad that he didn’t even bother waiting for Maxine and Susan to go to their rooms.

They got front-row seats to one of the worst beatings Billy has ever received. 

Bruises, cuts, and scratches littered his body afterward. Susan almost helped him. One look from Billy was enough to convey what he was thinking.

_ Fuck you. I didn’t need your help years ago, and I don’t need it now. I’m fine on my own. _

Maxine had sympathy, sure, but she still expected Billy to turn himself around. He scoffed when she demanded that he change by apologizing.

He’s never been good at change. He didn’t like it when they had to move to California after Neil accidentally raised a hand at Susan, slapped her once. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Maxine had witnessed it and didn’t waste any time running back to her dad’s house. 

Billy, Neil, and Susan all stayed up looking for her. Finally, around 4 in the morning, Susan suggested they go to her ex-husband’s house, and sure enough, Maxine was there, drinking chocolate milk and watching Mad Max on her dad’s couch.

What a fucking brat. 

It’s her fault. Not his. Just because he got caught sneaking into the house one night with kiss-swollen lips and alcohol on his breath doesn’t mean it was his fault too.  _ Maxine _ ran away from home. Billy went to get shit-faced after an argument with Beto over his drinking habits, just to spite Beto. He also found some guy to kiss for a while. So what?

Billy just wants to live his fucking life. Fuck anyone who tries telling him what to do with his body or with himself. 

Billy’s pretty sure alcohol poisoning wouldn’t be such a bad way to die, anyway. Seems better than dying at his dad’s hands. He won’t let Neil get the satisfaction. Billy’s going out  _ his _ way. 

Dying as he drives to Lover’s Lake isn’t ideal either. 

The sheer layer of ice on the roads makes Billy’s Camaro hard to control. He’s almost lost his grip on the car three times on the way to the lake.

Steve’s BMW is already there when he finally makes his way and parks the Camaro on the snow-covered ground. 

His leather jacket is not warm enough to protect against the cold and bitter wind that bites at his skin when he gets out of the car. His gloves don’t do much either. 

Billy should’ve used the stash of money he had in the Camaro’s glove-box for some winter clothes. Instead, he used it for some repairs the car needed after whatever the fuck Maxine did to it that night in November. 

He hasn’t asked. Whatever happened that night left Maxine with nightmares that wake the entire house up at 2 in the morning. 

She’s not getting beat by her dad. Maxine doesn’t have nightmares about her dad killing her mom in cold blood. 

Billy does. He wakes up, sweating, a silence surrounding him and forcing him to think about the nightmares where his dad is holding a knife and forcing Billy to watch as he stabs his mother repeatedly. 

He sees his mom’s blonde hair, stained with crimson. Her eyes are devoid of life when Billy steps forward to try to save her. Neil laughs hysterically when Billy cries for his mom and takes her limp body into his arms. 

Billy opens his eyes slowly after each nightmare. It takes him a while to remember that his mom  _ didn’t  _ get stabbed. She just left him alone, with a fucking asshole. That’s all. 

“Billy!” 

Steve runs over to Billy with a smile gracing his stupid face. Billy rolls his eyes at the sight. 

“Pretty boy! Got our skates?” Billy shouts, hands forming a circle around his mouth. He laughs when Steve stops in his tracks and rushes over to the trunk of his BMW. Of course, Steve  _ would  _ forget to grab them. 

Billy doesn’t think about how he knows that. How he knows that Steve smokes Camels, and that’s exactly why Billy bought some at Melvald’s before coming over here. A subconscious impulse brought on by all the time Billy and Steve have been spending together. 

He’ll never admit it out loud, but Steve is quickly becoming someone that Billy actually  _ likes _ hanging out with. Billy can’t help but wonder if this might turn into something better. He could let Steve in, maybe. 

One thing’s for certain. Steve is unlike any other friend Billy’s ever had. Not even Miguel cared as much as Steve does. Steve makes sure he’s not drinking too much when they go to parties together. Steve reminds him that he needs better clothes for the winter. 

Steve accepted his stupid apology. His  _ shitty _ apology. Steve had rolled his eyes, shrugged, and held out a hand for Billy to take.  _ “Truce?” _ Steve had asked, big brown eyes showing no sign that Steve was joking with Billy. Billy had taken his hand and said,  _ “Truce.” _

Best decision of his life. 

“You said these would fit you, right?” Steve’s voice cuts through the air. 

Billy walks over to the trunk of Steve’s BMW, shoving his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. 

The snow crunches under his boots, crackling like fire. It’s hard to walk without dragging some up. Billy wonders how people can even stand it sometimes. 

He grabs the skate out of Steve’s hand, ignoring the, ‘ _ Hey!’  _ that Steve lets out. He lifts up the skate to see the size and nods, “Yeah, these should be good.” 

Steve huffs and snatches it out of Billy’s hand. “Good,” Billy laughs at the narrowed eyes Steve shoots his way, “I had to go diggin’ through a pile of junk and shit for them.” 

Billy drapes a hand over his chest, blue eyes going soft, “All for me?” He grins, cackling when Steve shoots a glare his way. Steve flings a hand out to smack Billy’s arm. He hisses when it makes contact and rubs the stinging sensation away. 

“Can you skate?” Steve asks, bringing out his pair of skates. The trunk makes an awful noise when Steve slams it closed to sit on top of it. Billy shrugs and jumps up to sit on the trunk, “I can balance myself. Surfer, you know?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, reaching down to take off his stupid Nikes, “Not the same thing.” He says. Billy scoffs and reaches down to pull off his boots, “It basically is. You just fall on fucking  _ ice _ instead of the water.” He slams his boots down on the roof of the car, earning a slap on the thigh from Steve. 

“Watch the car, dude,” Steve barks. Billy groans, “You and your fucking car, man. Can’t mommy and daddy just buy you another one?” He teases, pinching Steve’s cheeks and relishing in the pissed off face Steve gives him. 

Steve grabs his skates and pulls them on, lacing them up with an ease that comes with living in the middle of nowhere, Indiana, where it gets cold enough to actually snow, “Sure, yeah. Uh, probably after they scream at me for being irresponsible,” Steve runs a hand through his hair. He never stops moving them when he’s talking, like he needs to  _ visibly  _ express his thoughts, “and for fucking up another thing they could’ve taken away.” 

Billy gets that. Neil had torn him a new one when he had accidentally dented the Camaro on a mailbox back in California. He was feeling destructive. Billy had to find a job to fix it up after Neil told him he wouldn’t be getting any help from him. 

It’s not like Billy was  _ expecting _ Neil to help. It still stung, though. 

Billy always thinks that, one of these days, Neil will turn around and start acting like his dad. Like a  _ proper  _ dad. A dad that carries him to bed, tucks him in, or takes care of him when he’s sick. 

Billy’s always had to fend for himself. He pulled himself out of bed and downed two Ibuprofens when he got the flu back in sophomore year. Billy made himself something to take for lunch and took another four pills for the rest of the day. He continued the cycle for about three days before his flu went away. 

Every cold has always been the same. Take something, drink something, eat something. Repeat. Pray to God that you don’t vomit on Neil’s carpet. 

_ That’s _ only happened once. Neil forced Billy to clean it all at once, with the stench of vomit still on his clothes and in his mouth. Then he got slapped across the face for it. At least it wasn’t a kick to the stomach. 

Billy nods, “But you got the money for it, don’t you? Just take some cash from their safe, or whatever.” He says, pulling up the skates and lacing them as nicely as possible. He pulls the velcro across and pats it flat, “You think I  _ actually _ know the password?” Steve asks, immediately shaking his head. 

“I don’t think I even know their favorite  _ colors _ , let alone the password to a fucking safe-  _ and _ they don’t have a safe,” Steve points a finger at Billy, brown eyes shining under the moonlight. 

He- Billy’s not getting into that.

Steve continues, “They wouldn’t give me the money, anyway.” He shrugs, hopping off the car and into the tiny layer of snow that covers the dirt. 

Billy follows and hops onto the ground, picking up Steve’s sneakers off the snow and setting them on top of the trunk, “My dad wouldn’t either.” He adds. Steve raises a brow and starts walking towards the frozen lake. 

Billy’s mouth opens and closes. 

Talking about his dad is hard when all he wants to do is shout, ‘ _ My dad beats the shit out of me sometimes. Please, for the love of God, get me out of that house.’  _

He ignores every exclamation point going off in his head, telling him to finally  _ tell _ someone, “He likes it when I’m responsible. You know how it is.” He explains. Thing is, Steve probably  _ doesn’t  _ know how it is. 

Billy’s only been to Steve’s house a handful of times, but every time he has been there, Steve’s parents have been away. According to Steve, his parents have been leaving him alone for weeks at a time, ever since he was in middle school. 

Billy  _ knows _ he shouldn’t envy Steve. He does anyway. 

If his dad and Susan left him and Max alone for weeks, then he would feel  _ so _ much better. 

Billy follows Steve to the edge of the ice. “I guess I do. My mom’s the one that gets after me more than my dad.” Steve says. He steps onto the ice. It makes a crackling noise that worries Billy. 

“The ice is good.” Steve buttons up his coat. Billy can’t believe people from Indiana sometimes. Winter coats instead of tank tops. Ignoring weird noises that the ice makes and instead gliding towards the center and back to the edge. 

Steve holds out a hand with a cheeky smile on his face, “Don’t tell me you’re scared, Hargrove.” He teases. Billy glares at him and crosses his arms over his chest. The skates are tight around his feet. It’s not uncomfortable, he’s worn some before, but he’s never been great at skating. 

“Fuck you, man.” Billy hisses. Steve laughs at him, and Billy regrets taking Steve’s outstretched hand as soon as he does. “It’ll be  _ fine. _ Just don’t let go.” Steve leads him along the edge of the lake, a smile on his face. 

The air is so cold that Billy can’t help but stick his other hand in the pocket of his jeans. “I wanna let go now.” Billy mutters. He can barely glide on the ice. It’s more of a waddle, “And trip and fall? Yeah, okay, dude.” Steve laughs.

Billy can’t help but look up when the wind picks up. The trees move so viciously that Billy thinks they might tip over and fall right on top of him and Steve.

Steve doesn’t seem to have a care in the world, though. Like he’s distracted, and can put whatever has him awake at 2 in the morning sometimes aside. 

It’s silent. The only sound is the sound of their skates. Billy’s are loud, harsh against the frozen lake. Steve’s skates are light as a feather, smooth. He’s practically dancing. 

Billy thinks he would’ve been a good figure skater. 

“Why are you such a good skater? You and every other hick.” Billy says, looking up from the ice to catch Steve staring. Right at him. Steve shrugs, “Skating backwards isn’t that hard. Especially when you’ve lived in Indiana your entire life.” He explains.

Billy hums, “Of course. Indiana’s stupid fucking winters,” Steve’s eyebrows furrow, his big brown eyes narrow, and the corners of his mouth drop, “They are  _ not _ stupid.” He argues. 

Steve waves his free hand away, “You got snow, and the hot cocoa.” He gestures to their feet with a grin, “ _ Skating. _ ” Billy rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the small smile that comes to his face.

“Do they not have ice rinks in California?” Steve asks. Billy tries to keep his balance as Steve moves faster and faster, pulling them towards the center of the lake, “Of course they do,” He responds, “I only went a couple of times though.”

His curls go flying after a burst of cold air. They cover up his eyes, and he can’t see what’s in front of him. He tries to take his hand out of his pocket to get his hair out of his face and then his knees buckle. He tries to keep his balance, but his legs don’t cooperate. 

Of course,  _ he _ would trip on his feet and wind up on top of Steve’s body.

A million scenarios go through Billy’s head in the millisecond it takes to fall on top of Steve. Steve can push him off, yell at him he’s not queer, and tell Billy to go away. Steve can decide that he’ll take matters into his hands and beat the shit out of Billy like Billy did to Steve back in November.

What he’s not counting on is for Steve to burst out laughing after they’ve both let out groans of pain at the sudden impact. His laughter is beautiful, and after Billy has gotten over the initial embarrassment of tripping over him, he rolls off Steve and lands beside him.

Billy lifts his hands to his eyes. They’re an angry shade of red, and they have a smidge of snow in between his fingers. He wipes the snow off on his jeans and winces when it irritates the skin. He tried to stop himself from completely collapsing in on Steve, but it didn’t work, obviously.

Steve doesn’t stop laughing. He talks in between breaths, “God, the  _ look  _ on your face!” He chuckles, wiping away the snow that built up in his hair, “That hurt like a  _ bitch, _ Hargrove. I didn’t know you wanted to hurt me a little more.” He won’t fucking  _ stop _ laughing. 

Steve covers his mouth with his hands, but it does a shitty job of containing his laughter. He looks like he’s fucking  _ dying,  _ “I fucking  _ knew _ you would trip.” He laughs. Billy thinks there’s actual fucking  _ tears _ in his brown eyes when he looks over at Steve.

Billy scoffs and ignores how even that makes his chest hurt, “You did _ not. _ I wasn’t that bad–“ Steve’s laughter bursts out of his chest, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “Yes, you were!” He exclaims. 

Normally, Billy would beat the crap out of anyone who even  _ snickered _ at him. Steve’s different, though. He’s not sure how, and why, but he is. 

“Fuck you, Harrington.” He growls, trying to sit up. Steve shoots out a hand to stop him though, and forces him back down with a grin on his stupid face, “Don’t get defensive and shit! It’s just the truth, Billy.” He argues,  _ completely _ ignoring the deadpan face Billy has on.

Billy rolls his eyes and shakes the snow out of his hair, watching as it flies everywhere, “I wasn’t fucking raised on the ice, pretty boy.” He turns around to clear the snow off the lake before he rests his head, “ _Some_ _of us_ were born in _exciting_ places.” He finishes.

“ _ Whatever _ ,” Steve groans. He goes quiet for a second and then turns his attention to the snow that piled up on his blue coat, “I thought even California would have to get cold sometimes.” He mumbles, flicking the snow off with his fingernail.

Billy shakes his head and looks down at his jean jacket. There’s snow crusting around the metal buttons, “Nah. Mostly sunny all day. Plenty of time to surf and swim.” He says, picking off the flakes of snow and throwing them to the side. 

“I wanna learn how to do that.” Steve says, picking his head up and twisting it to the side to look at the trees, “I wanna do something  _ fun.” _ His voice gets quieter the longer he looks at the forest surrounding the lake. 

Billy won’t ask why Steve looks so out of it. That would imply that he cares. He does, but- “Plenty of fun things to do in Cali.” He says instead of whatever lovey dovey bullshit he wants to say. 

Steve nods, wriggling around like he’s trying to shake something out of his body, “So I’ve heard.” He whispers. The back of his head is not nearly as pretty as Steve’s face. 

“I like Indiana, though. All of my friends are here. Well-” Steve pauses. It’s hard to picture what expression Steve might make as he looks on at the forest from hell, as Billy has dubbed it. “The kids are here.” Billy chuckles. Of course, Steve would think about the kids first. 

Billy’s learned that they’re not so bad. They’re weird, sometimes, and they talk  _ way _ too much about Dungeons & Dragons, but aside from that? Billy kinda likes them. 

He never got the chance to be that nerdy kid that rambled on and on about the things they loved. He read ‘The Lord of the Rings’ in secret, making frequent trips to the library back home in San Diego in order to avoid Neil. The annotated copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ that sits underneath one of his speakers is a stolen copy from his old high school. 

He envies them more than anything. Their lives aren’t perfect, probably. Definitely, with all the shit that Billy pulled months ago.  _ God, he still remembers the look of utter shock when he apologized to Lucas.  _ Still, he doubts that any of them are getting beat by their parents. 

Billy would recognize the signs.

“Always about the kids. You some kind of full-time mom, or what, Harrington?” He teases. Steve  _ finally _ turns to face him, resting on his side. He’s glaring at Billy, “They’re good kids, Billy. Weird, but good.” He retorts, lifting a hand to brush his brown hair out of his face. 

Billy’s fingers twitch with the strange urge to brush away the baby hairs that linger on Steve’s face, “Right. Shouldn’t you find better company, though?” He argues, blue eyes meeting brown ones when he looks away from Steve’s hair and focuses on the shimmer the moonlight gives Steve’s eyes. 

Steve shrugs, “I thought you were better company.” Billy snaps his fingers and nods, “And you’re right. Doesn’t get much better than me, Steve.”

He grins and starts laughing when Steve rolls his eyes and waves Billy off, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t get too cocky.” Steve mutters. 

“You’re alright company.” 

Billy scoffs. It’s much louder than he expected, but then again, they’re in the center of a frozen lake that sits on the outskirts of Hawkins. “You know what? I’ll take it. Better than you flat out ignoring me for weeks, Harrington. I knew you were smart enough.” Billy remarks. 

Snow falls on Billy’s face. “I’m smart..” Billy looks away from the snow falling from the sky to peer at Steve with his eyebrows raised, Steve rolls his eyes, “Sometimes.” He adds with a face that screams he really doesn’t give a  _ fuck _ about his intelligence. 

Billy’s heard that Steve isn’t that great with essays. Words don’t come easily to him, but numbers do. He’s great at all the math shit that Billy is mediocre at. 

“Like I said, smart enough.” Billy pats his shoulder once. He ignores the longing to let his hand linger on Steve’s shoulder, to  _ pull _ Steve in by his shoulder, and wrap his arms around him. 

Billy continues, “You’re good company too. Better than my family, that’s for sure,” He sighs. Steve furrows his brows and perks up, “Maxine’s okay-” He starts. Billy interrupts him with a firm tone in his voice, “Yeah, for a fucking  _ 13-year-old. _ ” He argues. 

Billy pretends to not hear Steve  _ still _ defending Max by listing all the cool things she does, and continues, “She’s whiny most of the time, even during her good moments. She leaves the fridge open, and anyway, you’re better company.” He finishes. Steve leaves his argument. He goes quiet for a moment. 

“Was that a  _ compliment _ ?” Steve asks, his smile widening into a grin. 

Billy groans, “Do  _ not _ get fucking used to it, dude.” Steve laughs and shakes his head, running his hands through his brown hair, “No, no, I just think the Christmas spirit is  _ finally _ getting to you. That was a  _ compliment. _ ” 

Steve’s been trying to get Billy to partake in his little Christmas shit. Like watching cheesy Christmas movies, or just movies. Billy’s only taken him up on it once, after a bad run in with his dad. 

Steve’s  _ also _ been trying to convince Billy to go to the Chief about his dad. If Billy could go back in time and stop himself from walking over to Steve’s after his dad kicked the shit out of his ribs, broke his nose, and gave him a massive headache… He doesn’t know what he would do. 

He hates the care Steve has for him. How Steve took one look and just told Billy to come in and sit down at the kitchen island while he looked for the shit they needed to patch Billy up. Billy hates how he accepts the care. 

Billy’s gone this long without someone caring for him. Why is this different? 

Probably because Steve expects nothing in return. He cares, and that’s it. 

He cares so much that he tried to ask Billy what he would like for Christmas, because  _ Steve _ wanted to get him something. 

Christmas this year is probably going to suck. Billy’s got no idea where he’s going to escape to after Christmas Eve. The only thing that’s safe and secured is the phone call he’s going to make to the Salinas’. 

He misses them. A lot. Their last day together was too short. It was one night, and one morning with fideo that Marcella made while she was crying. Billy misses everything about them. 

“I’m telling you, Steve, don’t get used to it.” 

Steve huffs and props himself up on his elbow, “Fine, I’ll try not to. Are you, like, homesick?” Billy scrunches his face up, “Why do you care?” He hisses. 

Billy’s trying to be nicer, yeah. That doesn’t mean being an asshole isn’t in his nature. 

Steve stammers, “It’s just- You’ve been in a bad mood all week. I thought it was because this is your first Christmas away from home,” He rambles a bit more, “If I was away from Indiana, I would be kinda mad too,” Steve waves his hands around and keeps on talking.

“Plus, I know that you wanted to get out of here as soon as possible,” Billy scrunches his face up again, “Who said that?” He interrupts, watching as Steve’s eyes widen.

He probably wasn’t supposed to admit that to Billy. 

Steve shrugs it off and answers, “Max did. She said you didn’t stop complaining for a week after moving here.” He goes on, “So, I’m just saying, I would be jumping at the first chance to get out of here too.” 

Billy narrows his eyes and then closes them for a second.

_ Do not get mad at Steve for fucking caring.  _

“I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, his brown doe eyes questioning, “Why not? I would be on the next flight back to California if i was you.” He says, fiddling with one of the buttons on his coat absentmindedly.

Billy chuckles, “That’s only because you’ve never been out of the state, Steve.” Steve only shrugs and continues with the button, “Just what Max had said.” 

“Indiana is boring.” Billy says, scratching at the back of his neck. The snow is piling up on top of their bodies, and on top of the lake. “Everything is boring,” He sighs, letting his arms rest by his side. 

The frozen water sends pricks of pain through his skin.

Immediately after, Steve mumbles, “I thought you said I was alright.” Billy pays him no attention, “The people are so fucking boring, and there’s nothing to do but go plant some fucking crops, or raise cows.” He lists the different things on his fingers with a scowl on his face. 

Billy really hates Indiana. Neil did a good job at finding the  _ exact _ place that Billy would die of boredom in. 

“Nothing like California?” Steve asks softly. Billy shakes his head and wipes away the stray snowflakes that roll onto his nose as he does, “Nothing like it.” He affirms. Steve hums in response.

Billy gets the feeling that he just messed up  _ whatever  _ atmosphere they had going. He wants to get it back.

“Still,” He adds, “I’m..”

Billy pauses for a moment. He looks away from Steve’s pretty boy face and looks up at the sky instead. 

It’s an eerie shade of grey from all the clouds full of snow that is piling down on the earth below. It reminds Billy of a scene from a horror movie, the scene right before someone gets stabbed while they’re waiting for someone in the snow. 

The trees that hang over the lake are a deep shade of a color that Billy can’t name. It’s a mixture of blue, grey, and green. They look over Steve and Billy like claws that will snatch them up any second now.

The cold wind has been prickling his skin the entire time, but all of a sudden Billy feels it stronger than ever before. 

Like all his senses are heightened as he thinks about what to say. 

He knows exactly what he wants to say to Steve. Billy just can’t tear his eyes away from the clouds. 

“I’m where I wanna be right now.” 

Billy can  _ feel _ the grin Steve is sending him. 

He looks over at Steve to see it for himself. 

“You’re going soft, aren’t you?” Steve whispers. Any other person would think Steve’s taunting Billy. Billy doesn’t think so. 

Billy rolls his blue eyes. This time, it’s playful when he does it. His eyes go right back to looking at Steve’s. “I’m not.” Billy whispers back. His heart races even faster when he hears how softly Steve says ‘ _ Okay.’ _

The silence that lapses between them is comfortable. There’s no pressure to say anything at all.

Steve breaks the silence when he reaches into the inside of his navy blue coat and brings out a tiny black bag. Small enough to hold jewelry, velvet, and with a drawstring.

Billy looks away and closes his eyes. The tiny snowflakes that are dropping from the clouds above them land on his eyelids, his nose,  _ everywhere. _ “What’s in the bag?” He mumbles, wrapping his arms tightly around his body. The cold is seeping in even more now, or maybe it’s just the fact that Steve hasn’t answered his question yet, and that gives Billy the chills.

Steve comes back to reality and hums, “A gift.” Billy snorts, “Yeah, no shit. Who’s it for?” He asks, twisting his body around to lie on his side, facing Steve. Steve sighs, “For you,  _ dumbass _ .” He huffs like it takes so much to admit that he thought of Billy and got him a gift. 

Billy gets that. He’s not a great person, an even worse friend sometimes with all the shit he pulls. Still, Billy likes to think that he’s been a.. Better friend. Since he started hanging out with Steve. 

“You serious?” Billy asks, opening his eyes to catch Steve staring off into space with an annoyed look on his face. Steve looks down at Billy, brown eyes narrowed, “No, I went to Indianapolis over the weekend for Casper the ghost.  _ Yes,  _ Billy.” He huffs, shoving the velvet bag into Billy’s icy hands. 

Billy takes the material in between his thumb and index finger, drawing circles over it, “Was it expensive?” He asks. He doesn’t expect Steve to say the exact price because Steve  _ never _ tells Billy it. He always says something vague like, “Not really.”  _ Like that. _

“Alright,” Billy sits up, dragging his hands over his jeans and wiping off the collecting snow, “Let’s see what King Steve got me,” Steve groans but gets up and sits next to Billy, anyway. Close enough that Billy can feel the warmth radiating from Steve’s body. 

Steve clasps his hands, “I’ll never understand why you keep on calling me that, that title went out the window at that Halloween party, “He mumbles. Billy focuses on keeping his hands gentle as he opens the bag and brings out a brown box. A  _ jewelry _ box. Fucking  _ joyeria _ . Of course. 

Steve keeps on talking, trying to fill the silence that’s coming from Billy, “All Tommy needed to see was you dripping beer for him to like you. King Billy. Got a nice ring to it,” He moves his hands as he talks. Billy noticed he does it a lot. 

Billy’s hands move over the box until he has the guts to  _ finally _ open it. “Besides, I was kinda over all that shit to- Billy?” Steve cuts himself off when he notices that Billy has done nothing to the rosary sitting inside of the box. 

It’s traditional, Billy can tell. It has gems the color of the Mexican flag, and it’s fucking gold, and has a cross on it that is so elegant that Billy’s hands want to drop under the imaginary weight. 

“Jesus,” Billy breathes out, running his free hand over his face, “Steve, where did you find one like this?” Billy turns to face Steve, clutching the rosary in his left hand. He’s got a death grip on the thing. 

Steve shrugs with a nonchalant smile on his face that tells Billy that Steve really knows him better than he thought, “Market in Indianapolis. You talked about missing California. How you used to go to mass with your Mexican friends, and the family that let you stay a lot of the time,” Steve lays back down, “And, I know that it’s not Christmas yet but I thought you’d like it better if it gave it to you away from everyone else.” 

Steve holds out a hand towards the sky, collecting snowflakes in the middle of his palm. Billy watches as he goes up on his elbows to blow the snow away, the wind picking it up and carrying it farther away. 

“It really wasn’t that expensive.” Billy ignores how Steve knows him so well that he knew Billy would ask about the price again, “Which market?” Billy asks, laying down next to Steve. His head thumps against the ice, making a sound that makes his heart race. 

Steve sighs, his breath looks like smoke and the image has Billy craving one, “I can’t pronounce it.” He admits under his breath, brown eyes looking towards the sky. Billy chuckles.  _ Fucking Indiana. _ People take Spanish to actually learn it, not just because they already know it and it would be an easy grade. 

“How’s it spelled?” He asks, because Billy is set on finding this market in Indianapolis, ask around if they sell tortas, or even fucking  _ tamales. _ Billy hasn’t had good Mexican food since they left California and got further away from the border. 

Steve chews on his lip before sighing again, “J-o-y-e-r-i-a. And then Ruby. That was the lady’s name. It’s been hers since ‘83, apparently.” Billy scrunches his eyebrows until the word finally comes to him, “Oh, joyeria?” He asks Steve, laughing when Steve’s eyes dart over to him with recognition in them. 

“Yeah! That’s the word. God, I need to pay more attention in that stupid Spanish class.” Steve grumbles, snow shifting as Steve shifts his body closer to Billy. 

Billy looks down at the rosary in his left hand. It drapes over his knuckles, the chilly feeling of the gold sinking into the center of his palm. He remembers how it felt to clasp a similar one in his hands as he prayed for his mother to come back, and how it felt when his dad snatched it out of his hands and threw it out his bedroom window, warning Billy to not go looking for it. 

His mom was gone. No amount of senseless praying would bring her back to them. 

“Steve?” He whispers. His heart races in his chest. He can hear how it thumps, the sound reaching his arms and his ears. 

Steve hums in response, “Yeah?” He turns his head around to face Billy. Billy’s never seen someone look so beautiful against a backdrop of trees that are creepy as all hell. 

Steve’s brows scrunch up in confusion and worry, “Hey, is something wrong? You don’t like it? Or-” Billy cuts Steve off before he can ramble more than he already is, “No, it’s not the gift. It’s perfect, actually. Thank you.” He tries his best to sound sincere because he is. 

Steve tilts his head to the side and frowns, “So, what’s wrong?” He asks and Billy struggles to say what he wants to say, but this is the one chance he has to say it. 

He can’t, though. 

Billy settles for, “I’m just.. “ He sighs and looks up to the sky, tucking the rosary into the pocket of his jean jacket. He clasps his hands together, misses how Steve edges closer and closer, “I’m exactly where I want to be. As shitty as that sounds. I’m not in California anymore, which fucking sucks.. But I’m okay.” He finishes. He takes a deep breath afterwards. 

Steve chuckles, and it makes Billy turn his head to face him because of how fucking  _ nice _ it sounds, “I’m glad you enjoy my company, Hargrove.” Billy laughs softly because,  _ of course _ , Steve would understand all he was trying to say. 

Billy shakes his head, “You’re alright, Steve.” He’s lying. Steve is.. He’s a lot of things. He knows how Billy’s last good Christmas was in the company of people his dad hates, how he lost himself a bit in California after his dad threatened to kick Billy out because of his  _ nasty habits _ . Boys, he meant. 

Steve leans over Billy’s body with that smile that Billy swears is reserved for girls. The charming one. The one that makes everyone think,  _ ‘He is so fucking cute.’ _ Billy’s thought the same before. 

Billy holds his breath when Steve leans down, their lips brushing, “I’m more than alright.” Steve whispers, and Billy is so fucking dumb and drunk with the feeling of euphoria rushing through his body that he just nods. It gets a soft laugh out of Steve, and then their lips are melting together. 

Every single one of Billy’s worries are thrown out the window when Steve’s lips meet his. They’re cold and slightly chapped, but they heat Billy’s face and his entire body, anyway. 

They kiss for just a minute or two. Billy’s head leans up, trying to catch Steve’s lips when they separate. Like his body has already grown accustomed to Steve and his pink lips, trying to make a habit out of kissing him. 

Steve chuckles and leans down to peck Billy’s lips, “Your lips are cold.” Billy mumbles, reaching up to brush baby hairs away from Steve’s face. His hand lingers and Steve leans into the touch, “And yet, you wanted more.” Steve says, a cheeky smile growing on his face. Billy can only laugh and nod. 

“I did. Got me hooked.” He admits. The corners of his eyes hurt, so does his jaw. It’s all the smiling he’s done tonight. 

Steve breathes free, “Good.” He whispers, “Gonna keep you by my side.” Steve lays down on top of Billy, arms wrapping around his middle. His voice is quiet. 

Billy’s hands make their way through Steve’s hair, brushing away the snow that mixed in with the brown strands. 

“Okay.” 

Billy’s voice is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if someone can find the references i snuck in- it's pretty blatant and anyone who knows it is superior, i don't make the rules.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to go up on christmas day but then i got cyberpunk 2077 and fell down the rabbit hole that is johnny silverhand saying he has an impressive cock. anywayy, i hope everyone had a great christmas. here's to another year of being in love with the idea of billy hargrove and steve harrington as THE power couple stranger things needs.


End file.
